


These Dreams Go At Last

by acidquill



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Break Up, Community: anti_christmas, Established Relationship, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 13:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidquill/pseuds/acidquill
Summary: Aziraphale learns what it is to fall.





	These Dreams Go At Last

**Author's Note:**

> my first GO fic ever, originally written for anti_christmas: bentley requested A/C, established relationship breakup, unhappy end. betaed by the talented & lovely windandsummer. op on lj way back in the 0 dark thirty of apr 2006.

Aziraphale stood behind the counter, putting what distance he could between the two of them.

“I’m Falling Crowley, I can feel it.” He didn’t speak loudly, didn’t whisper either, but there it was – bare and out and there. It hung in the air like the smoke from the demon’s expensive cigarettes.

Crowley snorted, “You’re paranoid angel, the only Fallen one around here is me. I’ve done it enough for both of us.”

Aziraphale shook his head, “No, I am. And I can’t. I _can’t_ Crowley.”

“I told you, you are not Falling. It’s been months and months since the business in Tadfield ended and we started…the other. If He was so peeved, he would’ve kicked you out long before now.”

“I know what’s happening Crowley,” Aziraphale placed his hand over his heart, “in here.”

Crowley sighed. “Listen I’m telling you for the last time, you are _not_ Falling.” He reached towards his lover. “Come on angel, we’ll do the Ritz. And after I’ll make you forget all about this preoccupation of yours.”

Aziraphale flinched back, “No.” He looked down at Crowley’s hand resting on the counter as if it would suddenly bite him. “That is what’s wrong; I’ve let myself forget too much.”

The angel looked up, his eyes wide, blue, and accusing. “It’s you. You’re the one doing this to me.”

Crowley felt as if something heavy had struck him in the chest. Perhaps it was the fact that not once had Aziraphale called him dear, or my dear, or any form of the word. Perhaps it was that he’d never seen the angel look so serious, or so frightened. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it really was something heavy striking him, something like love. But Crowley didn’t know what to do with any of that, so he retreated into the one thing he did know: being Crowley. And Crowley, no matter how many years he had spent on Earth, was still a demon. He fought dirty.

“Me? You are blaming me? Seems to me, you had a hand in it as well. After all, I can’t very well bugger an angel if he doesn’t want it can I?” He asked nastily. Aziraphale looked vaguely ill.

“That’s it, that’s it,” the angel muttered. All this time, and it was Crowley, Crowley who would bring him down. “I can’t Fall. Not even for you,” he whispered more to himself than to the demon.

Crowley heard anyway, but he refused to back down, not after the angel had done…what to him exactly? Hurt him, that’s what it was, hurt. It felt almost like one of their battles before the Arrangement. Only this time Aziraphale had managed to wound him just fine without any swords, without any powers. This battle was fought the human way, with words. Crowley always knew the bastards were better at cruelty than Hell could hope to be. Well if the angel wanted to hurt so badly, Crowley could deliver.

“I never asked you to Fall,” he snarled. “I don’t know why I bother anyway, it’_sss_ not like I can’t replace you.” He was slipping, hisses creeping through in his anger.

Aziraphale’s head snapped up, the sick look disappearing so quickly and completely that no one could have ever guessed it had been there in the first place. Crowley sneered.

“That’_sss_ right. I don’t need you. I can get what you give up from anywhere.” He slipped his shades on and crossed his arms.

“Get out.” Aziraphale’s voice was low and icy; a hint of angelic power made the walls of the bookshop trembled slightly. The angel didn’t notice. This was who threatened his grace, this is who he lo…no. There wasn’t anything other than a demon here. That’s all there had ever been, he had just been too blind to see it. He’d fooled himself into thinking Crowley was different, that he was special.

“_Get out_.”

There was a moment when everything was perfectly still. The demon and the angel stared at each other from opposite sides of the shop. Crowley blinked; he turned and stalked out of the door. Several books spontaneously combusted in his wake. The little bell above the door melted altogether, hot brass droplets hitting the pavement outside the shop.

Deep in his chest, Aziraphale felt a sharp pain – what was it? Oh yes, his heart. He finally understood the phrase humans liked to use so much. It really did feel as if something had broken. He looked around him. What was all this? What was the point of all these books, this meaningless paper and ink? Nothing. That’s what it was, _nothing_. He stretched his wings out behind him and let his body fall away. It had been too long. He turned his face up towards Heaven; he would ask for a new assignment. Maybe even a new body. Perhaps this one wouldn’t hurt as much.


End file.
